To Get to You
by revivingophelia
Summary: He was the last person she expected to knock on her door at four in the morning. Eve Torres, CM Punk. Post-4/15/13 RAW.


Title: To Get to You

Author: Karen U/revivingophelia

Pairing/Character: Eve Torres, CM Punk

Disclaimer: no one you recognize belongs to me

Rating: PG-13/T (for, like, one word; otherwise it would be K+)

Summary: He was the last person she expected to knock on her door at four in the morning.

Spoilers: 4/15/13 RAW

Warnings: language

Just a quick little one-shot that popped into my mind after watching RAW.

* * *

The knocking on the door woke her up, the woman rolling over in bed and looking over at the clock, noting that it was just before five in the morning... Way too early for anyone to be coming over. But the pounding on the door was constant, and it didn't seem to be letting up, so she kicked the covers off of her legs and got out of bed, making her way out of the room. She grabbed her robe as she did so, pulling it on and tying it, knowing the short article of clothing didn't give much more coverage than the tank top and shorts she'd slept in, but still feeling better having it on.

Moving quietly, she headed down the hallway toward the entry-way of the condo she lived in - chosen because it had an amazing view of the beach - the woman making her way to the door and rising on her toes to look through the peephole to see who was there, relieved to see that the motion sensor lights she'd put in hadn't shut back off yet, because it gave her just enough light to see who was out there and she didn't have to resort to turning on the porch light to see and therefore let the person know she was definitely there.

When she saw the person standing there, taking in his features in surprise, she dropped back down from her toes, in absolute shock for a moment before she reached out, undoing the multiple deadbolts on her door - she had three - and pulling the chain, the man on the other side apparently able to hear her, because he'd ceased his knocking as she worked to get the door open.

Her eyes wide, Eve Torres pulled open the door, still more than a little stunned at the fact that CM Punk was the person standing there. She knew, of course, that the WWE had been in South Carolina the night before and he had been there, but now, here he was, standing on her doorstep at her beach-front condo just outside of Los Angeles. It was a little surreal. It was also a little surreal to think that, while she'd been sitting on her couch the night before watching CM Punk walk out on RAW - three hours after he'd actually done it, thanks to the time difference between the east and west coasts - he may have actually already been on his way here, to see her.

"What are you doing here?" she couldn't help but whisper, the woman reaching out to grab onto the man's arm and pull him into her home... Her frown deepening when she saw the way he was limping. "You're hurt."

"It doesn't need surgery," the man muttered, allowing Eve to pull him inside and shut the door behind him. He stood exactly where she'd pulled him to while the former diva relocked all the doors, and Eve shook her head as she turned to look at him once more.

"You're still hurt. Come inside. Sit down," she told him, hooking her arm through his and leading him into her living room, taking him toward the couch and urging him to sit down. Punk's eyes strayed toward the over-sized clock she had hanging on the wall, the man flinching slightly when he registered the time.

"It's not even five in the morning. I didn't-"

"You came from South Carolina and probably traveled all night. I'm not worried about the time right now," Eve replied, making sure he got seated, then standing in front of him, frowning as she looked down at the man. He was still in the jeans, hoodie, and t-shirt that he'd been wearing when he'd walked out to RAW, then ended up pretty much stopping more or less in mid-sentence, hugging Heyman, and walking out. Shaking her head, she went to sit next to the man, her hand coming up to rub against his shoulder. "Punk, what is going on? What happened?"

"I don't know. I just... I'm so fucking tired. I..."

"You should have had time off for your knee a few months ago. You shouldn't have been wrestling a month after it happened. I know the title was important to you, but... You needed the time off. And everything after that..." Trailing off, she shook her head. "I tried to call you earlier. Despite the time difference."

Punk rubbed his hands over his face. "I turned my phone off. I just... It wasn't trying to avoid you or anything, obviously, since I'm here. I didn't know you were calling me. I just... I knew Paul would call me, and I'm not ready to..." He sighed, leaning back against the couch, letting his head fall against the cushions. "I had this whole thing worked out, what I was going to say, and then, when I got out there, I just couldn't... So I just left." The man turned his head to look at her. "It bothered me, a few months ago when you just up and quit."

"I know that. I recall the yelling," she told him, and the man flinched again, like he didn't want to think about the scene they'd had at the hotel later that night, when he'd come to her room and they'd had an argument bad enough that they hadn't talked for nearly a month.

"I was out of line that night. I just... I didn't want you to go. But now, I understand, I think. I mean... I just wanted to..."

"Punk... Phil... Did you quit?" she asked him, her eyes widening as she contemplated that possibility. He'd looked so upset when he'd left the arena, but for some reason, she hadn't really considered... "Punk?"

"I thought about it. I didn't quit, though. Not yet. I just... For over a year, it was trying to hold onto that title. Even when no one else seemed to really care about it, it was still about the title for me. I was the champion. Me, the guy from the indies that a lot of the big-shots never thought would make it. And then the Rock comes back and suddenly... Damn it." He slumped forward again, elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. Shifting closer to him, Eve brought her hand up, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Hey, it's okay. You've been beat up and kicked around for I don't know how long. You've been hurt and pushing through it and... Whatever you want to do is okay. Quit, stay, take some time off... Whatever. Your knee's probably still messed up enough that you could keep from being medically cleared for a few weeks, take some time off to decide what you want to do. Take some time to rest. To think."

"All I could think when I walked out was that I had to get out of there. I just wanted to be... gone. I grabbed my stuff, grabbed my car and took off. Checked out of the hotel, then went to the airport. I was just about to go and buy a ticket back home to Chicago, and then I looked up and saw the flight to Los Angeles and I... I thought about you, and I came here instead. I didn't want to go home. I wanted to come here. To see you."

"I'm glad you did."

He lifted his head from his hands, his gaze moving over her face as he studied her, the tiniest of smiles on his face, the most positive emotion she'd seen from him so far. "Even though I showed up at four forty-seven in the morning?" he wanted to know, and Eve reached out, running his hand over the short hair on his head, smiling in return.

"Even then. I was worried when I couldn't get in touch with you, and then I told myself that you just didn't want to talk. Eventually I made myself go to bed. I was a little freaked out when I realized someone was at my door at this time in the morning, but then I saw it was you, and... As I said... I'm glad you're here."

"You still going to be glad when I ask if I can stay a few days? Maybe hide out a little, try to get my head on straight."

"Still glad. At least if you're here, I can make sure you're taking care of yourself," she said, reaching up and running her fingers lightly over the dark circles beneath his eyes. She blinked in surprise when he lifted his hand to grab hold of hers, kissing the back of it, the woman able to feel the metal of his lip piercing against her skin. Leaning forward, the man let his forehead rest against hers, his free hand coming up to stroke over her cheek.

"I feel like I haven't slept in a month. Maybe more," he muttered, and she sighed, reaching up to cover his hand with her own.

"You probably haven't really rested in about that long. Maybe more," Eve replied, pulling back from him, reaching up to take his face in her hands and pulling him forward to press a kiss to his forehead, the action causing the man to blink in surprise. Smiling slightly, she stood up, then offered him her hand.

"Eve?"

"You need to sleep. You've been in a plane for however long, you've got crazy bumps and bruises, and I'm not letting you sleep on this couch. My bed's big enough for both of us, and you're too exhausted to try anything anyway. So come on. Time for bed," the woman said, watching as Punk carefully got up, wincing as he did so, the man then reaching out and taking her hand, letting her lead him down the hallway and toward her bedroom. He was still limping a little.

"Eve?"

"Yeah?"

"What happens if I decide I don't want to go back?" he asked, and she gave his hand a squeeze.

"Then I guess we decide what to do from there. When the time comes. For now... Let's just get some sleep. Maybe things will look better when you wake up."

"You'll be there, right?"

"Of course."

"Then I'm sure they will."

The End


End file.
